


Career Opportunities

by owlaholic68



Category: Original Work, Urban Shadows (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Backstory, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Past, Family Member Death, Gen, New York City, Pre-Canon, Swearing, Vampires, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: Sharon was not always Mr. Borgino's secretary.
Kudos: 1





	1. Freelance

Sharon is sixteen years old when her parents die in a gang fight.

They weren’t in the fight, but they were nearby and nobody in New York is that careful about where their bullets go. It had been on the news at work: two innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. Sharon had shrugged and moved on with her day, greeting customers with a tired smile until her coworker had handed her a phone and said it was from the local police department.

Then her stomach had sunk and things had moved very quickly.

Her parents were C-4 but Sharon’s retail job only landed her at C-1. She had to move, leave her childhood home behind and sell most of her parents’ things, putting only the most cherished of family heirlooms in a miniscule storage unit (a large locker, really). Her new studio apartment had a dingy shared bathroom with three other units. Crowded cafeteria, food that turned her stomach more often than not.

And then she had lost her job. Grief, her job counsellor had said with a sad smile devoid of any real sympathy. Grief can do things to a person, and it had made Sharon angry and bitter.

She was allowed three more months in her apartment before she would be evicted. If she didn’t find employment soon, she would be Declassed. The generous timing was due to her recent tragedy; most people got only one month.

What to do now with these three months?

* * *

One month passes. Sharon goes to more counselling, attends job fairs but leaves after just fifteen minutes, sometimes only five minutes. She skips meals, hides away in her tiny room, her cage in this miserable filthy city.

She stops seeing the counsellor. Ignores the letters that start arriving, ignores the therapist that comes in person to knock on her door.

Month two, she walks the city. Wears holes in her shoes. Nighttime walks, she carries a knife and never has to use it, though she had to threaten a few times. People who would mess with her see something in the way she walks, in the set of her shoulders, and they think twice.

It’s on one of these night walks, just over two months into her unemployment phase, when she sees a small shop that sells guns. She pauses in front of the window. Considers the money in her pocket.

The shop owner helps her pick one out. A lightweight sniper rifle with a silencer and nightvision scope. A discreet case and a short user’s manual.

Sharon walks out of the store with a gun in her bright pink floral backpack, bought with the last of her parents’ inheritance money.

She gets home at just past three in the morning. Spends the time until dawn crying, sobbing apologies into her pillow, hoping that her parents wouldn’t be too disappointed in her.

At dawn, she wipes her tears. Takes a shower and puts on a Hello Kitty pajama set. Then she starts researching the gang that killed her parents.

Sharon was always good at research. Planning. A bright student in school. She was going to get a full scholarship to wherever she wanted to go, her parents always said, beaming with pride. Neither of her parents had attended college, and now Sharon’s not sure that she will either.

But as she lays on a rooftop and puts a bullet through the head of each person who was responsible for making her life Hell, she feels a sick sort of satisfaction and pride. School doesn’t stop the rampant crime in this city. Education didn’t stop her parents from dying.

Maybe Sharon won’t go to college this year. Maybe she will make sure that nobody has to go through the pain and grief that she had to suffer.

* * *

Oddly, she makes money like this.

Someone posts about a similar situation and how they would pay money, hard cash, to see those responsible dead. She does the job, ignoring the way the blood splatters down on the pavement turn her stomach. She gets paid. She keeps her apartment.

A local store hires her next: someone has been blackmailing them and they can’t go on much longer.

After that is a local group of bikers: they’re having difficulty tracking down a rogue demon. This group’s demonic patron pays well.

Sharon starts making a name for herself: The Jeweled Lady. She’d accidentally kept her jewelry on during the last few jobs. Her mother’s earrings, a statement necklace, her parents’ wedding rings. She always made sure to dress professionally. It was easier to get into places if she looked respectable.

The Jeweled Lady was a silent assassin, people would say. Sharon didn’t like that word: “assassin”. She was – she wasn’t-

Well, technically, that’s what she was. A vigilante assassin.

* * *

Sharon does this work for five years before she gets approached by a local gang.

Surprising: she’d made her dislike of violent gangs quite clear.

“Miss Jewel, I can pay well,” the gang leader starts off. Always a bad start when they begin with money and not what the job is.

Sharon crosses her arms. She’s dressed in a slim black sweater dress, tights, boots. A plain black mask with fake jewels. She’s added more jewelry over these last few years: cheap costume bits so she can leave the family heirlooms at home.

Her silence unnerves the man. “I – I, it’s about my brother. He was working for a Shark but – but he hasn’t come back for days. It was only supposed to be a quick job, but he’s been gone for a week.”

“I don’t do rescue missions.” Sharon keeps her voice low. “And I don’t fuck with Sharks. You shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t think it’s a rescue mission. I think he’s dead and I want that vamp bitch to _pay.”_ He clenches his fists. “Just because little Miss Felicity’s got teeth, doesn’t mean she has to eat all of us up like we’re little snacks.”

“Miss Felicity?” This was a new name. Sharon knew enough about the wealthy Shark vampires to stay away from them: she knew the major names, faces, etc. Careful not to take any jobs about them. But she also didn’t like bullies.

He gives her a description. Long black straight hair, fashionable clothing, gorgeous face. Usually wearing sunglasses.

Sharon says she’ll think about it. She needs to do more research. She takes his contact information and promises she’ll get back to him no matter what she decides.

“I don’t normally do this,” she comments before she leaves. “I don’t work for gangs and I don’t do stupid shit like messing with Sharks.”

“I know, Miss Jewel, I know. Just consider it, please.”

* * *

Miss Felicity is a piece of work.

It’s easy to find information on her, but suspiciously easy. How much of this information is true and how much of it is disseminated by Felicity herself?

Here’s the information that Sharon can have confidence in:

Miss Felicity, no last name to be found, is an up-and-coming fashion designer. Elegant and feminine clothing lines. An impressive social media presence. But she’s also a shrewd businesswoman. Those in her inner circles call her cruel, harsh, unforgiving of mistakes.

Those people usually are found dead after such articles are published.

Individuals who currently work with her (and want to keep their heads) call her ambitious, cunning, creative. They say she has high standards.

Miss Felicity has started to dabble in politics. She has made several charitable donations to local museums and art houses. There was a rumor several months ago that she was involved (and profiting from) smuggling drugs. That rumor was quickly refuted and debunked by vocal news outlets.

News outlets that soon afterwards received large anonymous donations.

So Miss Felicity is _definitely_ involved in drug smuggling, Sharon decides. Also the author of that original article is, guess what, _dead._

 _Don’t trust a Shark, don’t trust a Shark,_ an old children’s song goes. _A Shark will meet you and eat you and all it does is lie, lie, lie._

Sharon does not want to go after someone like this. But Miss Felicity is a bully and Sharon _hates_ bullies.

She picks up the phone and tells the local gang leader that she’ll do it but wants payment up front in case she has to quickly go off the grid. He agrees. The thirst for revenge will do things to a person.

* * *

It’s silly, but Sharon dresses up for the occasion of killing Miss Felicity.

She has a black chiffon top with billowy sleeves that end in long tight cuffs. That goes with black skinny jeans and dark leather boots. Her jewelry is better, not the cheap costume crap. She does her hair in a long braid and pins it up, tucking in a few more decorative pins.

Her backpack now is black leather, black leather gloves to match.

Sharon is ready. Sharon goes out walking.

Miss Felicity will be attending a gala tonight, packed full of fashion stars. It’s set in the city’s botanical gardens, free to the public. She’d scouted out the location yesterday and had found a few optimal trees to hide in. If those were not available, there was a tower overlooking the koi ponds that could work.

There are no metal detectors and the gardens are still open to the public when Sharon enters. She picks up a map and starts casually meandering her way through until she gets to her spot. There’s no one around and no cameras that she had been able to see, so she hoists herself up into the large sugar maple tree.

She waits. And waits. The worst part of jobs is the waiting.

She used to think that the worst part was killing people. When did that change?

Before she has time to lose herself in her terrible thoughts, the gala attendees start to arrive. She entertains herself by idly watching them through the scope of her rifle; Miss Felicity will be fashionably late and there’s no need to rush yet.

True to Sharon’s instinct, it’s a full half hour after the gala starts before Miss Felicity arrives with her coterie. A few friends accompanying her but-

-but no bodyguard. Her personal “assistant” (read: bodyguard) was distinctive: tan skin, freckles, bushy blond hair. But they weren’t with Miss Felicity and Sharon had missed their entrance. It’s possible that they had split in the lobby and gone a different way out to the gardens.

Shit. They could be anywhere. She looks around but doesn’t see them. Decides to keep going with her original plan and focuses.

Miss Felicity carries herself with arrogance. People make way for her: though she’s not wildly famous yet, people here _know_ her. She stops to gift conversations upon a few select individuals, haughtily ignoring everyone else.

After about fifteen minutes, she steps outside to drink and contemplate the flowers. Sharon prepares herself to pull the trigger, crosshairs centered on Miss Felicity’s stupid smug manipulative head-

But something hits Sharon first. A knock to the back of the head that nearly knocks her unconscious.

She drops her gun and follows suit, slowing her controlled fall by scraping her hands on whatever branches are within reach. Grabs her gun and _runs._

Something heavy hits the ground behind her. Sharon chances a look backwards and sees Felicity’s bodyguard begin a full sprint after her.

Sharon is built for stealth, not speed. She doesn’t even make it to the exit of this patch of garden before she’s tackled and pinned. Gun knocked out of her hands. It skids across the grass and Sharon’s hopes slide away with it.

“You are _not_ going to scream,” the person on top of her hisses. “Understand?”

“Y-Yes,” she whispers. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I don’t know, that’s for Miss Felicity to decide. I am going to tie you up right now and if you start causing problems, I will bite. Okay?”

Sharon nods and lets the bodyguard tie her hands together and search her for other weaponry, discarding her pair of knives. She sits on the soft dewy grass and focuses only on keeping herself from crying. If she’s going to die, she’d rather do it with dignity.

The bodyguard calls their boss. Miss Felicity elegantly enters their corner garden a few minutes later – nearly floating with her grace.

“Bret, I said no more strays,” she quietly jokes. Her eyes are hard, though, looking Sharon up and down and taking in the details, noticing the gun that Bret the bodyguard had disassembled and laid on top of Sharon’s backpacks with her other weaponry.

“Madam, I found this assassin about to take your head off.” Bret’s earlier dominance is cowed. They are playing the part of a subservient bodyguard. “I await your instructions.”

“Hm.” Felicity walks up and yanks off Sharon’s mask. Her eyebrows raise in a seemingly genuine expression of surprise. “Shit. I’m not in the habit of killing children.”

Sharon opens her mouth to retort but thinks better of it. Miss Felicity doesn’t seem like the kind of person that should be talked back to. _I’m twenty-one,_ she wants to say, aware of how pathetic it would sound.

“Now what is a pretty little girl like you doing with a big nasty gun like this?” Miss Felicity grabs Sharon’s chin when she tries to respond. “No, no, I don’t think I’ll allow you to speak yet. Just nod yes or no. Was coming after me a personal thing?”

Sharon shakes her head no.

“Were you hired by someone?”

She nods. Felicity’s hand is freezing cold, even colder rings on her fingers digging into Sharon’s jaw.

Felicity lists of names of a few large players in the city. Sharon shakes her head at each one of them.

“Someone small-time, then, is that right?” She nods at Sharon’s nod. “I suppose I should be more careful if some random lowlifes are hiring assassins to come after me. The money better have been _very_ good.”

Sharon nods, though there wasn’t an explicit question in there.

“How much?” Felicity releases her. “You may speak.”

“Th-Thank you, Madam.” Sharon clears her throat. She’s going to follow the bodyguard’s lead on politeness. “It was thirty grand.”

Felicity quickly covers her mouth to smother a condescending chuckle. “Only?”

“Yes, Madam. I – I’m sorry.” Sharon’s hotly blushing now. It was a lot of money to her. She normally dealt with small-time revenge cases. She was officially Declassed and therefore was not eligible for comfortable governmental lodging and food; she had to pay her own way and such things could get expensive quickly.

Bret the bodyguard waves Sharon’s wallet. “She’s Declassed, Madam.”

“That would explain it. Well, darling, what’s your name? Your _real_ name, please.”

“Sh-Sharon, Madam.”

“Sharon. Very quaint. Bret, untie her.”

“Yes, Madam,” Bret murmurs, and undoes Sharon’s bindings.

“Sharon, you work for me now.” Miss Felicity does not _ask_ things, Sharon realizes. She demands and you do not refuse. “Kill who I want you to kill. Simple. Think you can handle that, sweetie?”

Sharon nods. There is no other choice besides death and Sharon would rather live right now. “Yes, Madam. Th-Thank you.”

“Hm. Bret, take her back to the office and get her set up. I have this event to deal with.”

Bret quickly obeys. Sharon obeys too. She gets a small amount of blood taken (for insurance, Bret explains) and is given identification naming her as an official employee of Miss Felicity, security division. She is promoted to C-2.

Security. Keyword for “personal assassin”. C-2. A poor assassin, one who has not officially proven herself yet.

“Miss Felicity does not tolerate failure,” Bret quietly remarks. “This night will be the _only_ time you will miss a target, understand?”

Sharon nods.

“Here, then.” Bret hands over a nametag. “Wear this when you’re in here.”

The nametag identifies Sharon as “Jewel”. Keeping her old codename.

Same business, different employer. Sharon sighs, clips on the nametag, and braces herself.


	2. Miss Felicity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (CW for child death)

If working as a freelance assassin was Hell, working for Miss Felicity is just a different layer of it.

Sharon has no say in her targets. She is still allowed to make her own plans but now has deadlines. _Strict_ deadlines that she doesn’t dare miss.

At least she doesn’t have to interact much with Miss Felicity: the Shark gives her a job, a target, and a timeframe. Sharon returns to report her success. Then another job, another report, and so on. The targets are not frequent: twice at most during a month.

A tense year goes by like this. Sharon spends her free time alone in her small C-2 apartment. Barely better than her old one: she shares the bathroom with another unit but it’s cleaner, and the cafeteria serves fresh food on Fridays. She gets a prescription for sedatives to help her sleep. A recommendation for a therapist that she never ends up seeing.

About a year and a half after she was first hired by Miss Felicity, Sharon is called to her office for another assignment.

“Sit, dear.” Felicity allows Sharon to sit this time. “How have you been?”

She doesn’t really care, but Felicity’s been working on her small-talk skills. Bret has complained to Sharon about the horrible stilted first attempts. “Good, Madam, thank you. How are you?”

“Good.” Felicity awkwardly pauses. “Anyways, here’s your assignment. Get it done by the end of the week, darling, and do it _discreetly._ My friend on the force has informed me that certain officers are starting to care about all these deaths going on.”

“Yes, Madam.” Sharon opens the folder and drops it. “Madam, I – I’m sorry, I can’t.”

The first page in the folder showed a kid. A _child._ A grinning boy with two front teeth missing, freckles, and bright blue eyes.

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Don’t be squeamish, now. You will do it, won’t you?”

Sharon is already shaking her head. “I – I’m sorry, I – I can’t, I can’t…” She tries to compose herself. She’s not a novice at this, so why does Felicity always make her feel like one? “I have standards, Madam. One of them is that I do not k-kill children.”

“Oh, Sharon, darling…” Felicity leans forward and puts her cold hand on top of Sharon’s. Her dark unfeeling eyes bore into her vision. There is a dangerous void in those eyes that threatens to swallow you whole if you stare too long. “You. Will. Do. It. _Or else.”_ Her intense gaze softens and she puts on a fake smile like one would put on a hat. “Have I made myself clear?”

 _I am a Shark in these waters and you are but a little helpless minnow,_ that smile says. _I will just have someone else do the job if you cannot,_ those eyes warn. _If you fail me, I have no more use for you and I will have you slowly and painfully torn apart,_ her hand threatens.

Sharon’s stomach is churning. She tries to force a smile but is shaking too badly. “Y-Yes, Madam,” she whispers. “I – I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Miss Felicity releases her. “You may go now.”

Sharon flees.

* * *

She had until the end of the week and Sharon takes all that time to make her decision.

Not that there is much of a decision to be made: do this job or die. She doesn’t want to die: she just made her first friend in years, the neighbor down the hall. She just discovered a wonderful Indian restaurant down the street that she hasn’t gotten to try yet. She wants to eventually make her parents proud.

Selfish, wasn’t she? And delusional, too, to think that her parents could somehow be smiling down upon her after everything that she had _done._ To think that she deserved friends. To think that she deserved any happiness.

So she waits until the very last night. She knows the kid’s schedule like the back of her hand with all the research she’s been doing, trying to convince herself that somehow it would be okay.

The kid has a nice view out his bedroom window: Sharon looks in from her post and sees him brushing his hair, getting ready for bed. He reads, does homework, plays with Legos. A distressingly normal childhood, just like her own before everything fell apart.

This boy has siblings: a younger sister and an older brother. The older brother is almost sixteen. Will he become like Sharon, twisted and corrupted by the desire for revenge? What about the sister, old enough to understand what she had lost?

Not to speak of the parents, who look so proud and happy when they go to tuck the boy into bed, not knowing that it will be the last time they see him alive. Knowing that when they walk back into his room, the bed will be drenched in blood and their son’s brain will be scattered across his ceiling with the glowing stars stuck up there, the baseball trophies on the dresser dripping red.

Sharon sets aside her gun, unloads it, packs it up in its case and puts it back in her backpack. Unused, and not to be used tonight. Not here.

She curls up in the corner of her post and cries until dawn. Until her time limit has passed and she has failed Miss Felicity.

It would be foolish to try to hide, run, or lie. So Sharon walks into Felicity’s small intimate office with her chin up.

Miss Felicity does not sleep. She raises an eyebrow. “There were no police reports about dead children this morning,” she comments. No greeting.

“No, Madam.”

“You didn’t follow through after all, did you, Sharon darling?”

The faux-casual tone makes her shiver. Sharon has had at least two days with no sleep longer than a few hours. She has not eaten since yesterday morning. She is miserable and she is sick of this shit and she just wants to go _home_ and be done with this.

For the first time in years, she wants her parents back so badly it nearly makes her cry right there in the office.

“N-No, Madam. I did not.”

Miss Felicity stares at her for at least a minute: it feels like an hour. Sharon’s earlier confidence has disappeared like a tattered kite in a park.

“What am I to do with you…” Felicity sighs. “You have disappointed me. One simple little thing and you fail. I do not tolerate failure, Sharon.” Another heavy sigh.

“I – I’m sorry, Madam-”

“Shut up,” she snaps. “Do you think that you deserve to speak right now?”

Sharon bites her lip. She looks down at her feet and wishes that Felicity didn’t make her feel like a stupid child.

“You tried to apologize to me. Are you even sorry?” When Sharon doesn’t respond, Felicity slams her hand on the table. “Don’t ignore me!”

To Sharon’s horror, she’s crying now, tears fogging up her glasses and rolling down her cheeks. She shakes her head no. No point in lying: she was just apologizing to try to lessen the blow.

“Ugh, great!” Felicity throws her hands up. Sharon flinches. “A baby, I forgot that I hired a fucking _infant!_ A little baby that kills people, that’s all you are! Good with a gun and good at being a crybaby, _useless_ with everything else! Fuck, you’re pathetic.”

She stands and grabs Sharon’s arm with pincer-like fingers. Drags her out of the office and down the hallway towards a wing she’s never been in before. Anyone who’s out in the hallway quickly ducks into their offices seeing Felicity coming.

“M-Madam, I – I’m sorry-”

The slap to the face from Felicity echoes down the corridor. “Shut the _fuck up!”_ She screeches. Digs her fingers into Sharon’s arm. “You do _not_ have permission to speak to me! Another word out of you and it will be your last, understand?”

Sharon rubs her slapped cheek and nods. Her glasses had gotten knocked off by the hit but Felicity’s still holding on to her so she doesn’t dare try to search for them on the ground.

She doesn’t need to. Miss Felicity snarls and stomps her fashionable boots. A crunch of glass lets Sharon know that she won’t be getting her glasses back. She whimpers but lets Felicity tow her down the rest of the hallway into a bright room. Too bright, giving her a massive headache as soon as she enters.

Miss Felicity speaks quietly with someone else in the room before releasing Sharon. “I will come fetch you in a few hours and we can discuss what you’re going to do to fix the problems you have made for me,” she says. “In the meantime, Gerard will watch over you here. He’ll put you in a nice quiet room where you can contemplate your mistakes.”

She pats Sharon’s cheek, the same one she had hit. “Have fun, Sharon.”

A “nice quiet room” apparently is a codeword for a tiny cell. Still blindingly bright and now eerily silent. Whoever the hell Gerard is, he’s not responding to Sharon.

She is in that isolation cell for more than a “few” hours. Sharon tries to curl up in the corner and sleep with her arms over her aching eyes, but a few moments after she tries, a siren starts blaring. It makes thinking difficult, it makes her teeth rattle and it – it feels like her ears are bleeding. No hope of sleep now.

When the sirens stop, Sharon spends her precious breath cursing Miss Felicity, her job, and those miserable rats who killed her parents and put her in this position in the first place. Then her anger fades into misery. Another round of sirens makes her feel like she’s going insane. She starts screaming for her mother, for her father, for anyone to help her. Starts apologizing and begging for mercy.

A few hours after she starts this breakdown, the lights dim and the click-clack of Miss Felicity’s heels echo outside of her cell. The door opens. Sharon remains on the floor where she had collapsed about an hour earlier.

“Get up.” Miss Felicity sounds like she’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell if she is or if she’s just baring her teeth.

Sharon nods, biting her lip to remind herself not to speak. She sways but manages to stay on her feet.

Felicity puts an arm around her and leads her out. “Come along, dear, we have things to talk about.”

Another nod. Sharon lets herself be led. How she hates this, how she wishes she was anywhere else but here with anyone else other than Felicity…

Miss Felicity does not let her sit in the office, instead forcing her to stand in front of the desk. “Have you thought about what you’ve done?”

Sharon nods.

“Good. I am giving you a second chance just this once. You have three days to finish what you need to finish. Understand?”

So even after all this, Sharon still has to kill that kid. Tears spring to her eyes but she nods. Nobody has ever gotten a second chance from Felicity before.

“Good girl. Pull yourself together, now, you’re acting like a baby and we can’t have that here.”

Another nod. Sharon blindly pats for the tissue holder on Felicity’s desk and blows her nose.

“And one last thing, Sharon dear. Hold out your hand. Whichever you don’t use to shoot.”

Confused but scared, Sharon holds out her left arm. Felicity takes it and turns it over so the wrist is facing up. Her thumb feels along the length of her arm from her wrist to her elbow.

“Don’t scream, darling,” she purrs, and bites Sharon’s arm. Like piercing firey knives stabbing deep into her flesh, tearing and taking and there is no way to escape. Sharon tries to jerk her arm away but can’t, tries to scream but her jaw is locked tightly and all she can do is yelp in dismay. All she can hear is her own terrified breathing, pained gasps when Felicity tightens her jaw.

Dark spots are forming in her already spotty vision when Felicity finally lets go. She delicately wipes her mouth and shoves a wad of tissues into Sharon’s hand.

“Good girl. Go on now and don’t bleed on the carpet.”

Sharon weakly nods and shakily makes it to the door.

“Three days, Sharon.”

She closes her eyes and nods. Get the job done in three days or else.

Felicity lets her leave. Sharon stumbles downstairs to the lobby, stomach tight with humiliation and misery. Bret calls a cab to get her home and only offers what sympathy wouldn’t get her in trouble too.

Sharon makes it home and collapses in bed. She sleeps for fifteen hours. Kills the kid. Goes home, throws up, sleeps some more. Gets more prescriptions, more diagnoses from the doctors. Loses what friends she’d been able to scrape together. Gets more jobs. Loses more of her integrity and pride. Gets a promotion to C-3 after ten years.

* * *

Sharon works for Miss Felicity for twenty years in total. She does not fail her again.


	3. Mr. Borgino

“Sharon, what do you think makes you qualified to be a secretary?”

Sharon crosses her legs. She folds her trembling hands under the table. Why couldn’t she have just shot this upstart Shark in the head instead of having to go through this whole farce? “As you can see from my resume, Sir, I have extensive customer service background. I have worked as a personal administrative assistant for my current employer for the last ten years.”

“Hm.” Mr. Borgino flips back through Sharon’s resume like he’d already forgotten what it said. He gives her a penetrating stare. “So it says. Why are you leaving this employer, then?”

Miss Felicity had given Sharon a fake resume and an extensive dossier of her fake past work history. This assassination was a test to see if Sharon could not only shoot, but also lie well enough to infiltrate an organization. In this case, the office of a new Shark in the dangerous waters of New York: Mr. Bryant Borgino.

“The work hasn’t been challenging enough. I like to keep myself on my toes, Sir. Make sure that I stay sharp.”

Another quiet “hm.” Borgino taps his fingers on the table, his cold eyes calculating something. Finally he stops tapping, straightens his posture, and shrugs. “Alright, then. Could you start tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes?” Sharon quickly reminds herself of her fake backstory. “I – I mean, I’ll have to contact my office to let them know-”

Borgino waves a hand. “Don’t bother, I’ll take care of it.”

Sharon panics before remembering that Felicity had already thought of this and had put down her own contact information as Sharon’s “former” employer. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t thank me. Instead, fill out this paperwork.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Borgino gives her an odd look before directing her to sign certain pages of the paperwork and leave others blank for him to fill in. “You’re very fucking formal.”

“It’s a habit, Sir.”

“Hm. I’ll be sending movers to your place tomorrow. Set aside all necessary medications or whatever so they don’t get lost.”

Sharon pauses. Tightens her hand on her pen. “Movers, Sir?”

“Yes.” Borgino squints at her. He has a glare that makes it look like he constantly has a migraine. “You’re C-3 right now.”

Oh no, Sharon better not be getting demoted for this stupid unnecessarily convoluted plan of Felicity’s-

“You’ll be starting at C-4 for now,” Borgino continues. “Another promotion will be scheduled in a year, but then not another one for three more years after that, I’m afraid. They get spread out more the higher you go.”

Working for Miss Felicity, Sharon has received a single measly promotion in twenty years. Borgino just said that she’ll be getting two such advancements within a span of five years. Sharon knows how to do math and she knows what that means. If she stayed with Borgino…

She shakes her head. What the fuck is she _thinking?_ This is a fake job. She – she’s not actually going to be working for this man, not really. There’s no point in getting her hopes up. He’ll be dead in a year. He’ll be dead in less than three months, actually.

But how – why – Borgino isn’t as wealthy as Miss Felicity, so why does he offer such generous compensation when Felicity is so stingy with her employees? Sharon was told that he is dangerous and cruel with his enemies, but why is he not intimidating in person? Sure he’s cold and distant and a bit rude, but Sharon finds that she’s…not afraid.

For the first time in over twenty years, Sharon doesn’t feel scared anymore.

“Sharon.”

She jolts. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir!” A bit of that fear returns but fades again when she realizes that Borgino doesn’t look angry, only faintly annoyed and mildly amused.

Borgino stares at her for a moment. “We’re done with the paperwork. I’ll send you copies. In the meantime, Selena will give you a tour and get you some ID badges and logins. Be out of here by four, though. Go home and get a lot of sleep. I expect you here by eight in the morning tomorrow.”

Sharon bites her lip. To an assassin who’s used to night jobs, that’s pretty early…

“Only for this week,” Borgino says. “Your shift starts at 9 but the first hour will be for training. You will have two half-hour breaks and a two-hour lunch. The night secretary will arrive at eight but you may leave at seven this week. I’ll drag someone else out to cover.” He stands and grabs his jacket. “Good luck, Sharon.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She stares at the table with confusion and doubt starting to sir in her heart for the first time for many, many years.

She tamps that shit down. No time. She’s got a job to do. Two jobs now. Time to report to Miss Felicity.

* * *

Miss Felicity is pleased with her progress.

“Continue to play along, Sharon dear,” she orders. “Keep checking in every other day, sooner if you discover something of interest.”

“Yes, Madam.” Sharon gives her new address and then closes the encrypted channel. She sighs and lays her head down on her desk. Naps until it’s time for dinner, then for the first time in years falls asleep in bed at a reasonable time with no help from medication.

* * *

Her first day is a whirlwind of training and orientation. Sharon picks up the job quickly and is confidently greeting clients by her third hour. She successfully schedules appointments by lunchtime, forgoing her first break in order to do so.

“Mark it down,” Borgino orders. “You can skip breaks or take shorter lunches but I want to know about it. I’ll lump it into your holiday bonus. Haven’t figured out a less cumbersome way to do it yet.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Borgino glances at the work she’s doing. A flicker of something flits across his face. “Good job,” he quietly says. “You learn quickly. You’re already making great progress, Sharon.” His face is still closed off but his voice is slightly warmer.

Sharon is not a child anymore but her eyes well up with tears at the praise. It may have been awkwardly said, but it was genuine.

There is a quiet noise of surprise from Borgino. Sharon quickly ducks her head to hide her tears. First day of work and she’s already crying? _Pathetic,_ Felicity would say. Sharon can already imagine her mocking disappointment.

“Go on your lunch early,” Borgino stiffly orders. “We have private lunch rooms down the hall.”

Sharon mutely nods and hurries to them. She slips inside one, locks the door behind her, and sobs through most of her lunch. She manages to eat a little of her food but saves the rest. Maybe she’ll feel like eating more on her second break.

When she comes back, Borgino doesn’t mention her moment of weakness. There are no snide comments. He only gives her a quick look, then nods. “I need you to cancel an appointment,” he says. “You can be as mean as you want. This dipshit just betrayed me on a crucial deal.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sharon makes it through the rest of the day. She gets home and despite her long day, makes herself a decent dinner in her new kitchen. She’d had two stove burners in her old place but mostly had just microwaved dinners, too exhausted to do anything more. She doesn’t do anything fancy tonight, but she makes a pasta sauce from a pre-made packet and a few fresh vegetables.

It feels like a feast. Does she deserve this?

Felicity would say no.

Borgino would shrug and tell her to do whatever the fuck she wants.

Sharon decides that even if she doesn’t deserve it, she’ll have it. A little slice of decency in her otherwise shitty life. She even allows herself a microwave brownie for dessert. Takes a shower and goes to sleep easily, the stress of the day starting to catch up to her.

* * *

The rest of the week, things get easier.

But Felicity starts asking for information on what Borgino is doing. Who he’s making appointments with, what they’re talking about, she wants to know. Any underhanded business details, of which Sharon knows very little about.

She suspects that Borgino does financial work for a few criminal groups in the city. It probably involves some sort of fraud, but she’s not sure if it’s tax evasion, money laundering, or another type of fraud. He’s cagey, hard to read.

“Find out more,” Felicity orders. “Get closer and pick up the damn pace.”

“Yes, Madam.” Sharon tries her best and only gets confirmation that Borgino does many types of financial fraud depending on the group in question. That complicates things. Felicity doesn’t like complicated answers to simple questions.

* * *

Sharon continues to “work” for Mr. Borgino for two months.

Shockingly, even though she works longer hours at an office job for the first time in her life, she feels happier. She goes off her sleeping pills and one of her anxiety medications. She gains ten pounds and finally gets near a healthy BMI range.

Felicity still checks in with her often. She hasn’t given the order to kill Borgino yet. She says she wants to learn some of his tricks first. She asks for weaknesses.

Sharon says that she hasn’t seen any weaknesses yet. The first time that she has lied to Felicity.

 _Mr. Borgino is terrified of spiders,_ she’d wanted to say. There’d been one in his office the other day. The fear and horror on her employer’s face had shocked Sharon before she had hurriedly disposed of it and notified Borgino that she’d get a team of exterminators in as soon as possible.

She had lied and she didn’t even know why – she didn’t really owe any loyalty to Borgino. She really worked for Felicity, not him. She should have told Felicity. People with lying lips usually end up with Felicity cutting those lips off and then following suit with the whole head.

Speaking of, Bret sends Sharon news of a coworker who “no longer worked for Felicity anymore”. Sharon sighs, quietly mourns them, and then moves on. She wishes she could spare more of a thought for them but this is happens dozens of times a year. She couldn’t keep that emotion going without breaking down a long time ago.

In contrast, Sharon is called upon to organize a party for one of Borgino’s mailroom managers who was leaving.

“Not working here anymore?” Sharon’s stomach sinks when Selena tells her. She’d liked Jeremy – he had a good head on his shoulders.

“Yeah, he’s going to move to Oregon and start a farm,” Selena says. Laughs a little. “Always a dreamer, that Jeremy.”

“Oh. Oh.” Sharon frowns. “And Mr. Borgino is okay with him doing that?”

“Yeah, though he’s pissed about having to find someone else competent to run the mailroom. He says that he hopes Jeremy gets kicked by a cow.” Selena smiles. She’s Borgino’s personal assistant. Peppy and energetic. Young, so young. “But I don’t think he means it. I think he’s just sad to lose a good person. It’s hard to tell with him.”

“It is,” Sharon agrees. “Well, I guess I’ll organize the party?”

She organizes the first going-away party ever in her life. With Borgino, people can just…leave. They can move on to other things. Another coworker says that they have to move back to Florida to deal with a sick parent. Borgino will accept them back if things get better and they’re able to move back up to New York.

Sharon thinks over the difference. With Felicity, leaving means a bullet through the head if Felicity’s feeling merciful. With Borgino, it means a farewell party and a promise to get your old job back if you want it.

More of the walls she’d put up break. She’d tried to stop thinking but now she can’t stop.

Why is she still working for Miss Felicity?

* * *

From time to time, Sharon will still get assigned assassinations by Felicity.

She works one such job on a Wednesday night. Unavoidable, the timing – she’ll be tired tomorrow. She’s getting older; she’s not going to be able to do this for very much longer. But it’s a simple hit. She walks home with her gun in her backpack, hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, headphones around her neck. She can’t pull off the college kid look anymore but still tries to blend into the nightly traffic.

Sharon has just turned onto a smaller road, about to cut through an alley, when she hears an awfully familiar voice behind her.

“You’re out late.”

Her stomach sinks. Borgino. In this neighborhood? At this hour? She turns and tries to not look so guilty. “Hello, Sir. I – I’m out for a walk.”

“A long way from home. Do you often go on such…evening walks?” Borgino crosses his arms. He’s dressed down: skinny jeans, t-shirt, combat boots, and a hat over his hair.

“Not very often, Sir.” Sharon swallows hard and tries to avoid her employer’s piercing stare.

Borgino continues to darkly stare for another minute. Something changes in his eyes and he finally looks away. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your walk.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Sharon turns away.

“Sharon?”

She pauses mid-step. “Yes, Sir?”

“What did she threaten you with?”

She makes a quiet noise of dismay before biting her lip. “I – I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Nobody works for her willingly. And you were just a kid.”

“I – I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sir, really!” She’s shaking now, hands fisted in her oversized hoodie.

Borgino sighs. “If she threatened to hurt or kill you, I can protect you,” he says. “You can leave her, Sharon. You can work for me.”

“I – I _do_ work for you, Sir.”

He laughs. “No, you don’t.” There is a swish of his clothing, the sound of his heavy boots on the concrete. “Don’t be late for work tomorrow, Sharon.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Sharon flees. Borgino _knows._

* * *

She still goes to work the next day.

Exhausted and terrified, she still shows up. Expecting punishment, expecting anger, expecting _something._

But Borgino only barks at her to get him some coffee, downing a cup with his usual grumble. He doesn’t mention last night’s incident. He mumbles something about appointments before the bustle of the day begins.

It’s so normal that it’s making her even more scared. But when she sits down for her lunch break, she has the awful realization that she’s not really scared of what _Borgino_ will do to her, but rather what _Felicity_ will do when she finds out that Sharon has failed, that Borgino knows who Sharon is.

Borgino doesn’t ever mention it that day. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that his secretary actually works for one of his biggest rivals. He doesn’t care that Sharon is an assassin and not actually a secretary. All that he cares about is his business running smoothly.

Sharon doesn’t report to Miss Felicity that night like she is supposed to. She just sends a quick email message saying that there is nothing to report and that she wants to limit their communications. She doesn’t think she’d be able to hide what had happened from her face. Miss Felicity doesn’t respond.

* * *

Two days later, Miss Felicity orders her to kill Mr. Borgino. She gives Sharon three days to complete the job.

Sharon takes the first day off work. Calls in sick for the first time ever. She spends the day holed up in her apartment trying to put together thoughts. The job is easy in theory: she knows Borgino’s schedule very well. But somehow she can’t even bring herself to start planning it.

She drags herself into work the next morning feeling like she’s on the verge of tears. Struggles until lunch when she finally has a breakdown in her little lunch room.

There is absolutely no way that she is going to kill Mr. Borgino, the only person to show her a scrap of kindness or mercy in twenty years. He does not deserve a bullet through the head. He does not deserve that.

And what does Sharon deserve?

She deserves not to work for Miss Felicity any longer.

With that decision made, she wipes her eyes and goes up to Borgino’s office. He’s on break now too. She knocks and enters.

“Sharon.” He sets aside a news pamphlet. Raises an eyebrow at her haggard appearance. “You look unwell.”

“She ordered me to kill you!” Sharon blurts.

“Oh.” He stands. “And?”

“And I – I don’t want to work for her anymore!” She holds onto that little nugget of determination and courage that Borgino has helped her grow. “I want to tell her that I quit!”

He gives her his characteristic penetrating stare. “I’ll make some calls. I doubt she’ll let you go with fond wishes.” While he dials a number, he beckons for her to approach. She does, warily. Awkwardly and stiffly, he pulls her into a quick hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he mumbles into her hair. “Nothing bad will happen to you. I promise.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He releases her and motions for her to sit down. “You can just call me by my last name, Sharon. Or even my first if we’re in private. You don’t have to be so fucking formal all the time. I’m not going to bite your head off.”

She nods. Borgino makes calls.

“Borgino?” She quietly asks when she feels calm enough to speak.

“Hm?” He’s on hold with someone at Felicity’s office. Gives her a frustrated look but she knows it’s not because of her.

“When did you know that I worked for Felicity?”

He nonchalantly shrugs. “Since you applied for the job. Since your interview. I do background checks, Sharon, good ones. And you had that look.” He frowns to himself. “You looked haunted. You started killing at a very young age and she just made you worse. God, I fucking hate her. Also, my horoscope that day said to trust even when it seems like the wrong thing to do.”

“You – you still _hired_ me even knowing that I was there to try to _kill_ you?”

“Yeah, so?” He jerks his head – the person he was talking to has come back. “Yes, I’m still fucking here. Did you just walk to Peru to get her? If you put me on hold one more fucking time I am going to rip out your spine.” He nods once, twice. “Excellent, thank you very much. Have a wonderful day.”

He puts down the phone. “She wants to talk to you in person. We have a meeting in ten minutes.”

* * *

The meeting is at a park down the block, roughly halfway between both offices. They walk: Borgino, Sharon, and one of Borgino’s security officers.

“I won’t get involved unless you ask me to,” Borgino says. “This is your thing to do.”

Sharon nods and focuses on not passing out or crying. The thought of having to face Miss Felicity makes her feel like a child again and she hates it. Ready to go get a scolding.

The park is a quiet place where businesspeople usually congregate at lunchtime. Since it’s not lunchtime, it’s empty.

Miss Felicity is already here. She’s standing in the center of the park, distinctive in her long coat, sharp sunglasses, and haughty demeanor. A few feet behind her, Bret leans on a wall, their sharp eyes watching everything, narrowing as Sharon and Borgino approach. Borgino takes a similar stance.

Felicity’s eyes dart over to Borgino before landing on Sharon. “Sharon, darling, so nice to see you! What’s this silly thing I’m hearing about you having second thoughts?” She closes the distance between them and lays a hand on Sharon’s arm. “Don’t tell me you’re having another little tantrum, dear.”

Sharon clears her scratchy dry throat. “I – I’m sorry, Madam. For – For not putting in two weeks’ notice.” She takes Felicity’s wrist and pushes her hand away. She does not want this woman to touch her anymore. “I quit.”

There is a dangerously long pause.

 _“Excuse me?”_ Felicity leans in close. She grabs Sharon’s chin similar as when they first met. Her voice, no longer masked as pleasant, is instead a furious hiss. “Do you want to _repeat that, Sharon?”_

How dare she continue to push Sharon around like Sharon is _nothing_ to her. Sharon summons a cold fury not unlike Borgino’s. She grabs Felicity’s wrist and jerks it away. Steps back and glares. “I quit! I’m quitting! I am _done_ working for you! I am not going to kill him and I am not going to kill anyone else for you ever again! And don’t you _dare_ touch me!”

Felicity slaps her in the face so hard it makes Sharon stumble. “How dare you _talk back to me!_ How dare you turn your back on _everything_ that I have _ever_ given you! You can’t _quit,_ Sharon. There is no such thing as _quitting,_ do you understand?” She grabs the front of Sharon’s shirt and yanks her close. “What the _fuck did he do to you?”_ She hisses. If Sharon’s glasses weren’t on the concrete, she could have seen the murderous rage in Felicity’s eyes. “How did he corrupt you so badly that you forgot who you were? What you could do? I have made you who you are today, Sharon, and you can _not_ turn your back on me. Don’t you even think about it.”

“Fuck off,” Sharon snarls. She is terrified but the last thing she wants to do is give Felicity that one last satisfaction of seeing her scared. “Felicity, I do _not_ work for you anymore. Let go of me.” When Felicity does not comply, she stomps down blindly with her foot. “Let go of me _right fucking now!”_

Felicity yelps; she normally wears some flimsy fashionable shoes, and Sharon was wearing loafers.

The problem with Sharks like Felicity is that they don’t _look_ physically dangerous. They disguise it with suits and dresses and jewelry and nice shoes.

But when Felicity throws Sharon to the ground, slams her head against the concrete, kicks her in the ribs, and bites down into Sharon’s arm, she is faced with the unfortunate realization and the reminder that she has a Shark of her own on her side.

“Borgino!” She screams. _“Borgino, help!”_

A tall blur comes into the fray and gets Felicity off of her. Sharon can hear them fighting while she pats the ground for her glasses. She finally finds them and shoves them onto her face: they’re cracked but still serviceable.

The fight that she sees is not as bad as she thought. Borgino and Felicity are circling each other. Felicity is limping and has a black eye. Borgino is bleeding from a long gash on his arm.

They stop circling and instead stare at each other. Borgino bares his fangs and stops slouching to rise to his full height. Felicity hisses but backs off. Her hand is out to stop Bret from joining the fray.

“You’re a fucking upstart little prick, thinking you can steal my employees like that,” she growls. Her hair is a disaster. Her precious sunglasses are shattered.

Borgino huffs a condescending laugh. He steps back to help Sharon up. “Don’t ever touch my secretary again.”

“Hmph.” Felicity turns heel and limps away. She shoots one deathly glare over her shoulder at Sharon.

Sharon shivers. “Thank you, Borgino.”

“Don’t mention it. She’s fucking awful.” Borgino surveys their wounds and winces. “Time for the doctor, unfortunately. You can cancel all my appointments for today while we’re in the car.”

They go to Borgino’s personal doctor, who dresses their wounds with no questions asked. The adrenaline is starting to fade. Sharon feels exhausted, sore, and scared.

But she survives. Borgino assigns her a guard to watch her home for a few months but nothing happens. Sharon does see Bret hang around for a while but eventually they leave her alone too. Rumors start to surface in the underground world that maybe it actually _is_ possible to resign from Miss Felicity’s office, if one has a powerful enough benefactor.

Sharon guesses that Miss Felicity _hates_ that rumor. Hates that someone got away from her and lived to tell the tale. Hates that there’s nothing she can do to Sharon without starting an all-out Shark bloodbath war that she couldn’t afford.

But it doesn’t matter what Miss Felicity thinks anymore. She doesn’t matter to Sharon any longer.

She continues working as a secretary for Borgino for ten years and plans to work for him for many, many more.


End file.
